The Ballad of Mona Lisa
by G.A. Clive
Summary: Based on the music video by Panic! at the Disco. A young man is killed by a vampire but his soul seems doomed to wander the earth. Can he find revenge and justice or will he be forced to watch as Mary takes over the town?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is based on the music video for Ballad of Mona Lisa. The song and video has been stuck in my head for two solid weeks now. The obsession is driving me slightly crazy, but I think this story will be a good outlet for me. This is my first song fic and vampire fic, probably because most examples I've read of these are total crap but I decided to give it a try. Many thanks to Eryn Grace O'Malley for her encouragement and proof reading... and those really important questions.

_He takes a moment to assess the sins she paid for..._

He was dead, he knew it as he lay there on the bed, his back propped up against the head board, his chin resting on his bare chest. Blood trickled from his neck and pooled in the hollow of his collar bone. He could still see, he could still hear the ambient sounds around him, and he was still sitting there in that bed but he was dead. He hadn't tried to move yet, but he knew his body would not obey him. He felt nothing, just numbness. She moved from the vanity across the room where she had just reapplied her lip stick, not that his blood hadn't already died her lips a garish shade of red.

Her thumbs blocked out his vision for a moment as she closed his eyelids, but when she removed her hands he could still see. He was simply sitting in the same place his body was, no longer seeing with his eyes but instead with his spirit. But why was he still here? Why wasn't he at St. Peter's Gates or walking the shady paths of the Dark Wood on his way to Hell?

She was still hovering over him, her hands resting on her hips as she tilted her head to the side in contemplation. "Maybe I should've kept you around," she seemed vaguely sorry for a moment before she shrugged off her seeming regret and left him alone in the richly decorated hotel room, the gas lamp on the dresser still burning.

He sat for a moment in the red glow of the velvet room wondering what he should do now. Was it simply a matter of time before he proceeded on to the after life, or was this it? He willed himself to move and he stood up from the bed. With what would've been a shaky breath, he tentatively glanced over his shoulder at the bed. His body hadn't made the move with him. He turned to face it and then through himself onto the form. Nothing happened. He simply landed through his body and onto the bed. There was no returning now. He was stuck as a spirit.

He rolled over onto his back, off of his body, and rested on the bed for a moment. Strange, he thought, he could still feel the texture of the sheets and he wasn't passing through the bed. It was still firm for him. Yet he passed through his body...

He closed his eyes and relaxed, perhaps... perhaps this was something he could control. He rested on the bed and then began to think of it more like water, something he could move through. He opened his eyes again and it was not the ceiling that he saw, but the bottom of the bed, the planks that held up the mattress were now above him. He could pass through objects, it seemed, by expecting to. Perhaps that was why he could pass into his body. Now if I could only control it,he mused.

He rose from the floor and looked down his soul half surprised that he could see it, he seemed to have willed himself dressed already as well which was of some small consolation. He stood for a moment and looked back at his body as the realization finally started to sink in. 的'm dead...He looked back at the door where the woman had disappeared through. "She killed me!" Panic seeped in as he realized that his experimenting with trying to get back to his body was not just an objective subject of interest, it was now his reality.

He clutched his head in agony as he sank to his knees, sobs of panic and fear ripped free from his mouth. He stayed there in that state until the door opened again. She was back. Fully clothed now in the rich, yet revealing black dress she was known to wear in the saloon and brothel. The same dress that had seduced him to his death. Her eyes searched the room before it landed on a purse resting by the vanity.

He rose behind her as she walked across the room. "You!" He screamed. "You whore! You murdering whore! You killed me!" He moved to stand in front of her, getting in her face and trying to grab her attention with his wrath. But she didn't see or hear him. In vain he screamed at her. He walked to the nightstand, reaching for the lamp to throw it at her. But his hand passed uselessly through it. In frustration he tried again, but to no avail. He could pass through walls and lie on beds but he couldn't pick anything up. Enraged, he ran at her trying to grab her, hit her, shake her, make some kind of physical contact. He failed in all his attempts.

In exasperation he stepped away from the woman, watching in confusion as she drew a knife from her purse. With a sense of finality and professionalism she approached his body where it still lay, propped up, on the bed. "Oh! What are you going to do with that, huh?" He shouted, "I'm already dead if you can't see that!" She firmly grabbed his body's head with one hand and drew her other hand, holding the knife, across his neck effectively slitting his throat. "Can't have anyone thinking a vampire killed you, now can we?" She murmured distractedly, wiping the blade clean on the sheets before putting it back in her purse.

She straightened her blouse and licked any blood that remained off her fingers before walking out of the room. She paused briefly at the door, her hand resting on the knob and looked back at her dead patron. She was regal the way she stood there, the warm light of the lamps reflecting dully on brass buckles of her corset. "Nothing personal," she said. And then she was gone.

He stood alone in the room, frozen by indecision, not knowing what to do next. There was no way he could let her get away with this, but there was nothing he could physically do. No one could hear him, and he couldn't even pick up a pen to write it. He noticed a paper left on the nightstand, a train schedule for trains leaving Chicago. He memorized the time that was circled and gasped in surprise at the familiar destination she had chosen, he couldn't do anything now but he wasn't going to let her leave his sight while there was still a chance for justice.


	2. She's Coming

A/N: A little bit late in posting this considering it's been done for well over a week now. The reason for the delay is that I don't like to post a chapter till the next one is almost done, this is in case I hit a major dry spell with my plot bunny hunting. As always, much thanks to my readers and to Eryn Grace O'Malley for letting me bounce countless ideas off her and helping me brainstorm names. (And to all you lurkers, I know you're there, drop a review and say "hi" to me! You know you want to)

Blanche Salisbury looked down at the beautiful nosegay that rested on her lap. "Oh Clarence, they're lovely!" She brought the flowers up to her nose and breathed in the scent of roses.

"Yellow for the joy I feel every time I see you!" Mayor Harold Wilford of Peaktown, Illinois sat down on the couch next to his darling fiance. She smiled at him from a creamy face framed by golden curls, her small frame only taking up a small space on the sofa. He smiled back at her, secretly relieved that he found a flower to appropriately convey his feelings for her: joy, joy and friendship. The yellow rose portrayed little passion, and that was perfectly suitable for the two of them. They were both marrying more for convenience than love. Her, a good family, him the mayor and both with a tidy sum of money resting safely in the bank.

They sat in awkward silence, not sure of what to say next. They would have remained that way for a good while if it weren't for the interruption at the parlor door. "Blanche! Oh Blanche, have I got news for you!" A whirlwind of a red head rushed through the door and planted herself on the couch between the two "lovers". "Oh hello, Harold!" She nodded briefly at the man before she directed her attention back to her friend. "My friend Mary is coming to visit me tomorrow from Chicago! And I tell you, as soon as her train comes in we are all gonna meet at my house and have a great party! Oh it will be so much fun!"

"Well Ingrid," Blanche tried her best to collect her thoughts after the rush of words. "That really is good news! I'm very excited to meet her and Harold," she looked pointedly at her now annoyed fiance, "and I will be happy to go to your party and meet your friend."

"Oh splended, Blanche!" Ingrid clapped her hands in excitement and gathered herself up from the couch. "Well I must be off, I have so much preparation to do! You know, it's no easy task throwing a suitable party for a city girl like Mary! I'm simply beside myself in all the chaos, but oh I should pull through alright," her words continued on like this in a steady stream as she left the parlor and walked out onto the street ready to tell others the exciting news.

"I remember when people used to talk about me like that," Harold stroked his brown mustache in bewilderment trying his best to recover from hurricane Ingrid. He was a barrel chested man, as steadfast and sturdy in posture and carriage as he was in his ideals. A man who had come to terms that he was no longer growing up, but simply growing old; a stark comparison to his young and willowy wife to be. He looked about the room and settled for himself that there was nothing left for him to do there and rose from the couch. "Well I'll be off then, I will pick you up tomorrow around seven. I have to go see a certain Crackitus Potts about a disturbance at the old church." He patted Blanche once on the head and left without another word.

Blanche sat alone in the violet room fingering the flowers on her lap with gentle fondness. Everything seemed to be going well for her so far, she took life slowly and cautiously and her gentle spirit won her an easy lifestyle with little pain and a quiet peace. Everyone knew this about her, and one could not be mistaken in reading her by her cover. With Blanche, what you saw was what you got. It was only fair that others treated her with as much dignity and politeness that she carried herself. She was about to find out, however, that not all play fairly and by the rules. And the fates had set their sights on painting a future for her as vivid and complex as that velvet room in Chicago.

The train had been stopped at the station to load more passengers for long enough period of time for the black haired woman to pain her nails while many bustled past her private cab. She drew another sweep across her nail with the small brush and smiled in satisfaction at the dark color. Outside the whistle blew and a final boarding was called for. She settled back comfortably in her seat as the train began to lurch forward. Across from her, a young pale man sat looking out the window with his chin resting in his hand. There was no point in glaring at her for the long ride, so he had given up his attempts at showing his ire and sat in resignation.

There was a knock at the door and a conductor stepped partially into the cab. "Mary Flinn?" The woman nodded her head. "A telegram was waiting for you at the station." She accepted the paper and read it silently to herself. Across the cab the spirit glanced curiously at her. "A party, hm? Well that should be a delightful headache!" She laughed in derision and leaned her head back, closing her eyes to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The old church was one of the first buildings to be raised when Peaktown was settled, but time wore on and the small building was left vacant in favor of a newer and larger church that had better suited the growing, but still relatively small, town . With only about 40 families in the city, it was still accepted that everyone knew everyone else. Mayor Wilford was on a first name basis with the majority of the city, and so was everyone else for that matter. Quite possibly as famous as the mayor, however, was the leader of a group that had eccentric activities and interests to say the least.

It was the League of STEAM that prided itself with the supernatural goings on of the town. Everything from ghosts to therianthropy and trolls to undead concerned these brave men and women. With their unbelievable machines and a suspicious eye on all, the League had gained a reputation for being not only effective, but being a downright nuisance to the local peace. It was one thing to suspect that your house was haunted, it was another to have the League searching, poking, and electrocuting their way through it before they exterminated the problem and left poor Grandmama's parlor in a complete disarray. Of this enthusiatic bunch, Crackitus Potts was the leader and the chief nuisance, but a fair and courteous nuisance at that.

It was this very man that Mayor Wilford contemplated as he stood at the door of the old church. Stealing himself for the potential shock of some silly scandal to deal with he pulled on the old piece of oak and stepped inside. There was Potts explaining the dimensions of the building to an old spinster who had hopes of converting it into an orphanage. "Of course the League's services will be free of charge for you, Ms. Salander," he beamed at the woman. "Anything to help a good cause! Now, by tomorrow this place should be done with inspection and any unwanted guests will be expelled."

"Oh thank you, lad!" The antique maiden pinched the not-so-young man's cheek in fondness. "Now I must be off to buy some more supplies. Oh the children will be so happy here!" She hustled her way to the door where she was met by Mr. Potts' colleague JR just coming in. He held the door open for her with a polite smile and entered. His face fell, however, when he approached his boss.

"What's wrong, JR?" The younger team member stepped up to his leader and quietly handed him an unfolded telegram. Wilford curiously watched Potts as he perused the paper, his face increasingly frowning as he comprehended the contents of the message. He looked up with an expression of shocked sorrow. "Does the missus know?" His voice sounded raspy.

JR meekly nodded his head. "She was with me when the news arrived." Wilford looked in confusion at the two men. "What's wrong?"

Potts glanced at him as though he had forgotten the mayor was there. "My nephew, Brennan, was murdered in Chicago. They're bringing in his body next week on the train... Poor lad's mother is still in Ireland, this will break her heart."

Wilford blinked as he tried to think of something to say. "Oh... Well that is really a shame, my condolences to you and your family."

"Thank you, mayor," Potts said. "I'm sorry to leave you so suddenly but I really must get back to my wife."

"Oh of course!" The mayor did his best to convey warmth and comfort in his smile. He looked, instead, like he had gas. Mr. Potts nodded his thanks and made his way out the door. He paused briefly at the threshold, "I'll see you tomorrow night at the party. Wilford nodded once, and the ghost hunter was gone.

He stood for a moment in the empty sanctuary a place that once housed so many promises and dreams now empty. He was not a particularly religious man, but the sense that this place was meant for something more than human purposes could not be gotten rid of. He surveyed for a moment the peeling paint on the walls, the dirty and dimmed windows, and the long since broken alter at the head of the aisle. With the slightest feelings of inadequacies and discomfort, he left the old church, only too thankful to be free of the the self-meditations that the place invoked.

The train moved slowly up to the foggy platform, the sun hidden from view behind the heavy clouds. It was not a busy station and only two figures stepped off in the small town. A black parasol rose through the steam of the engines as the woman beneath began to look for her friend. Behind her, the ghost paused for a moment to take in his surroundings. It had been years since he was last here, still little than a lad hoping to find a good job and make it to Chicago. Peaktown was no place to nurture sweet dreams of music and the heightened hopes of ragtime. He smirked at himself and let his eyes wander towards a group of people waiting to board and the family that was seeing them off. He didn't recognize any of them but noticed in surprise that a small girl, who was standing with the well-wishers, seemed to be staring right at him.

He blinked in confusion at her and watched in slow shock as she raised her hand and waved. He waved back and was about to walk to her when he heard Mary say behind him, "Ah, Ingrid! So good to see you again!" He glanced behind him to see Mary climb into a coach. In a moment of indecision he glanced back towards the train depot, wondering wether he should try to talk to the girl or continue following Mary... But the child was nowhere to be seen.

A/N: As always, leave me a review please! It's hard to tell if anyone is even reading this. =/


	4. Chapter 4

Blanche stepped in from the cold dark into the warm golden glow of the many gas lamps that lit Ingrid's spacious house. With a nervous smile she straightened out the dark green folds of her skirt before she looked about for Harold. Her search was cut short, however, when her attention was caught by JR. She gave him a warm smile as she crossed the room to him. "JR! So good to see you tonight!" He gave her a small smile as he took her hand, "Always a pleasure to see you as well, Blanche." She noticed the weariness in his face, "Something wrong?"

He nodded slightly before he replied again, the iron rims of his goggles flashing in time with the movement as the dull metal caught the light. It was not such a strange sight for the citizens of Peaktown to observe that the members of the League still insisted on having certain items on them even at formal occasions. "Ah, there was a death in the family recently and we got the news yesterday." Blanche patted his shoulder in sympathy, "I'm sorry to hear that JR, how's Crackitus and the Mrs. Potts?"

"Well enough," he replied. "He's over there getting the ROSE started up with the Professor." Blanche excused herself and made her way to the burly frame of Mr. Potts and the tall, slim frame of Professor Jager. "Get your hands out there you're going to throw off one of the cogs!" The agitated inventor of the ROSE stood behind the life-size wind up doll as he watched his leader fiddle around in the opening of ROSE's back.

She watched the two men as they bickered and finally got the doll running. ROSE was always appreciated as a light form of entertainment with her enchanting dances and her hollow-voiced singing. Many guests stood in an enchanted circle as they watched the spectacle. Blanche allowed her gaze to drift across the room as she again wondered where her fiance was, she had still yet to greet him that night. As she surveyed the party her eyes caught on the dark form of a young man watching the festivities. His black eyes swept the area around him as he leaned against the entry way with his arms crossed. There was something off about his appearance, like the paleness of his skin did not look quite pasty but also somewhat translucent...

Her thoughts were suddenly snatched away in a different direction as she finally saw Harold walk into the spacious, yet crowded room. She ignored the sweet music of the doll as she stared in confusion at the woman who held onto the mayor's arm. She was beautiful, elegant, and well-dressed in her stunning red silk dress. Blanche glanced down at her own, comparatively plain dress feeling suddenly small and inconsequent. The woman who was with Harold must have been Ingrid's friend, Mary, as Blanche did not recognize her and the guest had a big-city air about herself, with her perfectly powdered complexion and black ringlets.

Blanche looked away in agitation, feeling inferior to a woman that she couldn't help but acknowledge as competition the way she was holding on to the mayor. The couple approached and began to converse with Crackitus, all the while ignoring the meek young woman. Blanche only listened partially as she was shoved past so often that she soon ended up on the outside of the group. "Ah, here's a picture of my nephew if you'd like to see it." She tried to get a glimpse as the Leaguer showed a picture of his now famous nephew, but it was to no avail. She couldn't even see the nucleus of the group that held Mary, Mr. Potts, and the mayor.

"Why Miss Mary, are you alright?" Again she craned to see, but all she got was a brief look at the distress and shock that crossed Mary's face. "Uh yes, I'm... I'm fine. I uh, I know him!" Blanche was not the only one to be interested by this. "You must have been close to Brennan then to react so strongly!"

Mary hesitated a moment as she suddenly noticed how many eyes were now on her. "Yes, I did know him..." she began, "and we were close... he was my fiance!" The young woman began to cry. "I had not known he was dead! Oh what a way to find out!" She threw herself onto Harold's shoulder as the nucleus increased in density around her.

Blanche couldn't help but feel sympathy for the woman. She couldn't help but feel claustrophobic as well. She turned away from the crowd and as she set course for the porch outside, she couldn't help but notice the strange young man already heading there.

Tentatively she followed him outside and stood quietly a few feet away, not wanting to yet disrupt the man before. He clasped the porch railings in a white knuckled grip as he muttered angrily to the night. "She's going to get it, I swear to God she well get it! She thinks she can get away with it, but she won't! I'll give it to her right good I will... She's gonna get what's coming to her."

Blanche raised an eyebrow as she stepped towards him. "And just what is coming to her then?" The young man spun around and looked at her in shock. "Forget I asked," Blanche quickly amended, thinking that she had been rude. Again, the man stared blankly at her. She stared back. He was handsome, to be sure... but he looked decidedly a tad on the manic side. His brown eyes stared wide at her and his dark hair seemed to stick out with an energy of its own. "Are you alright?" She queried.

"I'm fine," he whispered. "You can see me?" The words seemed to be forced from his lips as though it was the most dreaded question he could ask.

"Of course I can! You're standing right in front of me aren't you?" Blanche laughed nervously. Before he could reply she continued on, "Well! There's a party going on inside, no use standing out here!" She turned quickly and walked away, feeling ludicrous and ignoring the strange man's cries for her to wait.

She stepped back into the warm light and saw an opening in a conversation with Mr. Potts. She took the opportunity to finally see the picture of his dead nephew and happily he showed her the print. Familiar dark eyes stared out at her from the sepia coloured image, and the strangest of feelings overcame her as fainted.

A/N: Fun little fact- Brennan is irish for tears. Cool huh? I was looking for an irish version of Brendon's name and this fit SO perfectly!


End file.
